


An Unexpected Arrival

by ausmac



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Omega, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:53:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25106500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ausmac/pseuds/ausmac
Summary: Stormwind receives a visit by the Warchief of the Horde.A small sequel to "Threading the Needle"
Relationships: Garrosh Hellscream/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	An Unexpected Arrival

Garrosh stands on the prow of the warship named for his father and watches as Stormwind emerges from the morning offshore mist. It's an impressive sight if white and blue is a favourite colour choice. White walls, he thinks, make fine, clear targets. 

His arrival is naturally observed and his lookouts report flights of airborne defenders are rising from the city. He can even hear the faint call of bugles. But his ship's guns are not out, the gunports are closed and his vessel – while impressively strong – sails alone. And it bears the banner of the Warchief on its peak. He knows…hopes…that the King of Stormwind will see it, and understand.

The ship's captain is nervous, Garrosh can smell his sweat. He doesn't turn but continues to watch.

"Stop stinking up the deck. They won't attack."

"Yes, Warchief. But if they do.."

"They won't. Slow your approach and anchor in the harbor, not at the dock. He'll come."

"As you command."

There's doubt there, wisely unvoiced. Garrosh trusts Varian but trusting nervous trigger fingers, that's another thing. It would be easier to dock and tie up but that was pushing trust a bit far. They finally pass the headlands and drop anchor a hundred feet from the nearest dock, and he waits.

There are crowds milling on the docks. Civilians, troops, he can hear the rumble of conversation, the stamping of boots and shields, the orders being called. Good readiness there, and every warship in the harbour has its gunports open, though the cannons haven't been run out. He reins in his patience, arms crossed over his chest, and waits.

And finally he sees him. A tall figure, riding a big white horse, pushes through the crowds and rides to the end of the nearest dock. Even there, even so far away, he can sense Varian. The familiar, pleasant aura drifts in the salty air, tempting him closer. He turns away and drops down from the foredeck to the main, calling for his landing boat. Time to move.

Varian watches as the small boat ploughs through the water towards the dock. Naturally, Garrosh is standing, huge arms crossed over his chest, his head moving from side to side as he observes the city. A warchief indeed, unable to resist assessing the defences of a place he can never attack just because that's how he is. A warrior always, an Orc always.

His appearance had been a total surprise with no message of intent. Garrosh didn't always do what he expected. In some ways he was predictable, able to be manipulated if never quite controlled. But now and then he did the unforeseen because he was Orc and Varian wasn't. Their minds just worked differently. The idea of him simply turning up in Stormwind had never occurred to Varian. _I need to learn from that. Expect the unexpected._

He dismounts as the boat reaches the dock and catches the thrown rope, tying it to the dock bollard. There is a thump and he turns to look up into his mate's face.

"Next time," he says calmly, "tell me you're coming."

There is the familiar, quirked grin, a grunt, the lowered brow. "You don't like surprises?"

Varian knows he is just being tested because it is Garrosh and he can't resist poking things to see them squirm. He watches as a large grey wolf is led up the gangplank. The wolf's ears are drawn back and her muzzle wrinkles into a snarl. Garrosh strokes her head to calm her and slips onto the saddle. 

He mounts his horse. "A king isn't fond of surprises of your magnitude. Let's go somewhere private so I can explain the difference."

Champion twitches as the wolf walks close. But the big horse is a war mount and, other than a stomp of an iron-shod hoof and drawn-back ears, he moves easily as Varian turns him away from the dock and up the road towards the castle. The crowds that had gathered as they always did when he was out and about edge backwards away from Garrosh, muttering. Orcs only came to Stormwind as prisoners or bodies. A live one walking their streets causes a stir.

They don't speak that much during the slow ride up to the castle, though Garrosh does pause at the foot of the rather unmissable statue. He studies it, slowly looking up and down and gives a guttural laugh. "Could you have made it any bigger?"

"I didn't make it, my people did. I imagine they approve of me."

"Well, size is important." Garrosh moves on, his wolf mounting the stairs easily and Varian doesn't respond further since they aren't in private and he suspects that once they start talking it will be hard to stop. So he ushers the Warchief up the last of the stairs past the rigidly curious guards and into the King's quarters in the western wing. He strips off his gloves and drops them onto the table as Garrosh sees to his wolf's comfort and the door is slammed shut. He turns, resting his arms over his chest as Garrosh glares.

"So why are you here?

"My balls," Garrosh says in a slow growl, "had gone up into my guts from worrying about you."

Varian can't resist grinning. "Now, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me." He holds his ground as Garrosh stalks towards him, stopping inches away. "I would have come to Orgrimmar in time."

"Not soon enough. And besides," the orc says as he grasps Varian's upper arm, "I thought it was time enough to come here. You always come to Orgrimmar in your time. Only fair I come here, at least once. Unless I'm not welcome?"

It is phrased as a question, and not too seriously, but they both know it isn't entirely a joke. "You are always welcome here." There is a slight emphasis on the "you" which Garrosh catches with a raised eyebrow. "Next time, plan it with me so you survive the idea."

Standing so close, Garrosh's aura is powerful and Varian slowly lifts the big hand from his arm to play the host. "Can I get you a drink?"

Garrosh turns and grabs a chair. "Yes, if you can find anything that isn't piss weak." The chair has arms and he pulls them off so that he can sit. The chair shudders and creaks under his weight as he wriggles his butt onto it. "Did you know," he says, as he finally settles, angling the chair backwards and resting his feet on the table, "that there are at least three people watching us?" He nods his head at the nearest wall. "I can smell 'em."

"I am not surprised. Mathias!"

There is silence for a few moments and then a creaking as a section of the richly panelled wall opens. The SI5 leader steps through and bows. "Sire, my apologies but I…"

"I am not asking for apologies. Get your people and leave. If I find anyone else sneaking around my rooms I will be very displeased." He glares, frustrated though he realises Mathias is merely doing his job, and Shaw is very much aware of it.

"Yes, Sir. Good evening. And good evening, Warchief." He makes the briefest of bows to Garrosh, who grunts but says nothing, just watches as the small group of agents quietly leave.

"Now, where's my drink?"

Varian goes to the drink cabinet and takes out two glasses. They're fine pieces, crystal cut by the local glass makers and he realises neither of them will survive even one round of drink, so he puts one back and pulls out a large dwarven tankard. The wines are good, strong vintages but unlikely to impress his mate so he half-fills the tankard with ale and tops it up with whisky before pouring a mug of ale for himself. Garrosh takes the offered drink, sniffs it, takes a mouthful and swirls it around before tossing down the rest, the potent liquid spilling over his hands and down onto the rug.

Varian hesitates a moment then turns, collects his own drink and walks across the room to the balcony doors. He needs a few moments to clear his head; the orc's powerful aura is tugging at the fraying edges of his control, making him both hungry and angry. _Well, nothing new about that_ he thinks as he walks out and rests his elbows on the balcony wall. Below and around him, Stormwind is setting into the afternoon as the sun dips towards the ocean. Muted city sounds drift upwards, a familiar quiet cacophony that mingles in perfect discord with the Cathedral bells. He starts to relax and then twitches, distracted again by the sense of an approaching two-legged storm.

A hand comes to rest on his shoulder and he can feel the heat of it through the stiff leather of his casual armor. Breath brushes through his hair, intimately close and he turns to look up into feral, watchful eyes. "I asked you before and you were flippant. Why are you here? Don't you trust me?"

Garrosh leans backwards against the balustrade, one hand on the stone, the other carrying the half-empty mug. "It's not about trust, its about distraction. You get distracted here with people and things and duties. The healers.."

"Gods! I know what the healers said! I'm not damned stupid!" The anger was starting to heat him up and he sucked in a deep breath. "I know."

"Yes you do but you get distracted. Last time you got to Orgrimmar only a day before your Heat. Cutting it too fine." His voice was starting to rumble, emotion pushing the words up out of his chest. "I won't have you dying stupidly."

"No that would be unfortunate." Varian turns and sinks down into the old wooden chair and rests his arms on the stone. "What's the answer then? You can't stay here, I can't stay there. Not all the time."

Garrosh finishes off his drink, seems to consider tossing it over the balcony and places it instead on the floor. "I think I should come here, stay for a week before your time. Not all the time, but now and then. And if you haven't come to Orgrimmar a week before on the next one, I'll send a few flyers over to drop some pretty fireworks to remind you. Maybe a bomb or two, just to liven things up." He stares out over the city, eyes arrowed. "It's too damned pretty and…soft. Could do with some livening up."

You could never tell with an Orc whether they were joking or suggesting something chaotically serious and Varian stands, grabs Garrosh by the arms and shoves him back against the wall. "Touch one part of my city and I'll…"

Garrosh laughs and lifts Varian off his feet with insulting ease. "You'll do what? " With one hand under Varian's arse and the other around his waist, Garrosh presses his mouth against Varian's throat and licks. It feels disgustingly nice so Varian lets him do it. The familiar feel of a strength equal to – or possibly even greater – than his own is always compelling. In a very short time it won't simply be pleasant, it will be explosively sensual. He lets his own aura flare, soothing and comforting his mate, turning the muttered words into groans. 

He has never asked what Garrosh does between their matings. He doesn't know if the Warchief has other partners to keep his significant appetite assuaged. Perhaps one day he will. Perhaps not. Even if there are other bed partners, he knows the truth of it. There may be others, but none of them matter because what there is between him and Garrosh is matchless.

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to complete the second part of this story of Garrosh's visit to Stormwind which I will post shortly.


End file.
